


Soon the (blasting) bells will start

by mck97



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Christmas Tree Farm is a bop okay, F/M, Not Me!, One Shot, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Tumblr Prompt, am I abusing the number of tags?, scorose, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27947852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mck97/pseuds/mck97
Summary: Even the jolliest of fellas had to agree: there was a limit. And the limit was playing, nay, blasting, the same freaking Christmas playlist all day long. On repeat. While tunelessly singing along. While living in a building where other people with ears happened to live. This needed to stop. He was a Man With A Mission.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy & Rose Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy/Rose Weasley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	Soon the (blasting) bells will start

Based on the Tumblr Prompt: Character A doesn’t feel the Christmas spirit but Character B, who lives above them, keeps playing Christmas carols really loud.

**December 3rd, 2029. 7:30 p.m.**

_“My winter nights are taken up by static.”_

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, again?”

Now, let’s get one thing straight before anyone starts jumping to conclusions: No, Scorpius Malfoy was not a _Grinch_ , he didn’t hate Christmas, nor the General Jolly _Vibes_ (trademark pending), and contrary to what his mates might say, he most certainly did _not_ share any qualities whatsoever with Ebenezer Scrooge. None.

But even the jolliest of fellas had to agree: there was a limit.

And the limit was playing, nay, _blasting_ , the same freaking Christmas playlist all day long. 

On repeat. 

While tunelessly singing along _._

While living in a building where other people with ears happened to live. 

While being aware that the aforementioned building was famous in the real estate community for its paper-thin... _everything._

‘ _Stress, and the holiday shopping traffic…’_

“But I close my eyes,” Scorp unwittingly sang along, as he grabbed his broom, “and I’m somewhere else… just like magic.”

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Merlin almighty, he banged on his ceiling with his broom _to the beat of the song._

This had to stop. It was a matter of principle, of life and death. Of dignity. Scorp wouldn’t be caught dead knowing the words, let alone the beating cues of a Christmas muggle song. No matter how catchy it was. 

Not that it was catchy. It wasn’t.

Honestly, it was his own damned fault. Everyone, from friends to family had raised very pertinent questions as to _why in the world he_ would ever choose to live in a Muggle building. 

‘ _You could get in trouble if you breach the Statute of Secrecy, even if it’s accidental,’_ they said. 

‘ _You’re so grumpy, Scorp, and Muggles are_ way _too_ friendly,’ they said. 

‘ _My darling, the wizarding folk and the mud- Muggles... have been living separately for centuries for a reason, we’re different breeds. Coexistence is a myth!_

That one had been Grandmother. She meant well, in her own way. Kind of. 

Same as she meant well when she decided to shit all over his friends and their families after she’d had a few extra glasses of whatever, nevermind that poor Al was invited to dinner and had to listen to the whole rant.

Afterwards, she had innocently claimed she didn’t know he was a Potter. 

_Please_.

Anyway, all these solid — though some arguably racist — arguments, and yet, he wouldn’t listen.

He was so determined to be on his own after eighteen long years of having to live under other people’s rules. First Grandfather Lucius’, when he was still alive and kicking, ruling Malfoy Manor, then his parents’, then his teachers’, _hell_ , even his dormmates’, with their kinks and pernickety habits. 

He was _done_. And the Muggle world sounded like so much fun in Muggle Studies, an unknown territory for him to explore, and most importantly, a world where he was virtually a _nobody._ No history-heavy last name, no double takes when he walked through the busy streets of Diagon Alley, nothing. Just a handsome man, making his way down Muggle London.

He liked it here, he liked his life, even if he had to walk fifteen minutes to find a discreet apparition spot. He was _not_ going to start having second thoughts about his beautiful, ridiculously cheap flat just because some lunatic had issues regarding the awareness that they, in fact, lived in a society. He simply refused.

Scorp put down his broom, grabbed his keys, and walked out of the door. 

_It’s freezing_. _Should’ve grabbed my coat._

Alas, cold be damned, he was a man on a mission: he was gonna go up the stairs, bang on this deranged person’s door - following no rhythm, whatsoever, mind you - and give them a piece of his mind. 

Yes. Yes, he was.

_Not to be a Dark Magic apologist but man, life sure would be a lot easier if you could just pull an Imperius on people._

What? That was a _joke!_ A little thing called DARK HUMOUR, geez.

And he was the grumpy one?

Anyway.

Bang or their door he did, repeatedly, loudly, _relentlessly,_ even, since the music was still blasting.

‘ _AND EVERYTHING IS ICY AND BLUE…. AND YOU WOULD BE THERE TOO…’_

 _Dammit_ , that was kind of his favourite part. He was about to get carried away - against his will, of course, because these Muggle artists had a kind of _pull_ with their songs, everyone knew that - when the door finally opened.

To say he was surprised, appalled, _flabbergasted_ , if you will, when he saw who was on the other side of the door, would have been an understatement. Whatever the words, even the ones with the most syllables - which obviously meant they were superior -they would still not be big enough to explain the utter shock that was to see Rose _freaking_ Weasley staring back at him, his fist still raised in the same position it had been while he was knocking.

“WHAT!” She paused. “WHAT!!” Her eyes were big saucers. Huge. “SCORPIUS MALFOY!! WHAT!!” 

At least she was smiling.

Was she _high?_

“Yes. That’s me,” he replied curtly. “I didn’t know you lived here.”

“Just moved in, actually, about a week ago.” 

But he knew that. Not that it was her specifically, of course, but he could do the math. It was a quite simple equation, really, it read: _days of peace and quiet equals the negative value of days that sodding playlist had been playing nonstop_.

Whatever, Arithmancy had never been his forte. In spite of that, he still thought it was a clever bit.

“So what brings you here?” she continued, unaware of the mental gymnastics that had been going on in his brain. “Did Al send you? I told him it wasn’t a big deal, I swear, that boy! I’m so sorry you had to come all this way I—”

“Actually, I’m right under you,” he interrupted. “The apartment, I mean. The one right under yours,” he added. “That’s where I live.” 

It was an important thing to clarify, he figured.

“No way! What are the odds!” She grinned. Like, a showing-all-your-teeth grin. She had always been a very enthusiastic person. The personification of an exclamation point, she was. Cute, in a Manic Pixie Dream Girl sort of way. 

“Come on in,” she said, like the thought had just popped into her head and it was just the _best_ idea _ever._ “These hallways are freezing, don’t you think? Have you ever talked to the landlord about it?”

She stepped aside to let him in, the smile never leaving her face, the music still blasting.

_‘OH BABY, BABY, MERRY CHRISTMAS’_

_Maybe the building_ **_didn’t_ ** _have paper-thin everything_. 

The music sounded _way_ louder inside Rose’s apartment. He felt like he was inside a beating heart - everything vibrated.

“Still, even if you live right under me, Al didn’t need to ask you to come help me, really,” she continued, barely pausing to breathe after closing the door. “He promised he’d help me sort my stuff out, but then he remembered he had this work thing in Ireland and he felt so bad, and I was like ‘Don’t worry Al! I’m fine,’ but he didn’t believe me, I guess? That’s so Al, though. Huh, Al-though, funny. Anyway, he’s a carer, that one, but you know that, of course. Tea?”

“Excuse me?” 

He was dumbfounded. He hadn’t even recovered from the shock of seeing her opening the door and she had already jumped to so many different subjects he wasn’t even sure what was going on anymore. Had she mentioned a landlord?

“Do you want some tea? I have some Christmas cookies too, store-bought though, sorry.”

“Uh. No, thank you. Actually, I came here for a specific matter.” Atta boy, nice recovery. “I didn’t even know you lived here, to be honest I-”

_‘I… DON’T WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS….’_

Motherfucker.

“I love this song!” Rose yelled, turning the volume up. “Do you mind?” she added, as an afterthought, pointing to her speaker.

“Actually, that’s exactly why I came up here. I didn’t even know it was you living here, but I guess I’m glad it’s someone I know,” _and that I can stupefy without breaching that damned Statute of Secrecy_. 

He’d never say it out loud, of course, mostly because he didn’t mean it. But now he was on a roll, nothing could interrupt him. “Because the fact is, I’ve been banging on my ceiling, your floor, I guess”— Oh no, he was getting worked up —“for ‘ _about a week_ ’ now, and I have had enough—”

“Oh I’m so sorry I didn’t hear the banging I—”

“Shush. I’m still talking, and I have a lot to say, so turn down the volume of that wretched device from hell of yours and _listen._ ” At that, she went a little red on the face. Crap, that was never good. For his sake, he added a, “Please.” 

Fixed it.

She did as she was told, any trace of her smile completely gone. She was getting redder…. and taller? 

_Shit_. 

She sat down and stared pointedly at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Uhm… okay. As I was saying, uhm. The music you play - during the day I mean - it’s _way_ too loud, and… and I think I speak on behalf of everyone living in this building when I say that it has come to the point of being disrespectful, yes, disrespectful, to the community, as a whole. 

“And I can’t concentrate on my books, and I have all these jolly songs stuck in my head while I’m at work? And I’ve even caught myself humming them while I’m on the loo, it’s frankly disturbing!” 

He paused, taking in her expression. She seemed to have lost a little of the redness on her face, lost a bit of the height she had gained when he’d first gone off on her.

“It’s affecting every aspect of my life,” he moaned. “I mean, the community’s life. The neighbours. So… yeah. If you could maybe keep it down, I’d -- _we’d_ really appreciate it.”

“The community, you mean?” 

Her voice was tense. Crap.

“Yes.”

To say a silence fell between them would have been too much, since the last notes of Mariah Carey’s hit single were still playing softly in the background. It was almost nice, really.

Yes, he knew who Mariah Carey was. He was a wizard, not a hermit.

After a minute of both of them staring at the floor, Rose softly spoke again, “I’m sorry.”

Scorpius looked up, there was no way it could be this easy.

“I actually cast a sound concealing charm, but I linked it to a few others that repelled Muggles, so I could keep on using magic without getting caught.” 

Huh. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“I’m guessing it got _too_ linked with the Muggle repelling ones and now it doesn’t work on non-Muggles.” She gave him a look, _Community Schmmunity,_ it seemed to say. 

There went his carefully crafted lie _._

“I really had no idea I was causing you annoyance.” After a tiny pause, she continued, a light chuckle escaping her throat, “Does this mean that you heard me _sing_?”

“Oh yes.” He smiled. “Your high notes need a lot of practice but you have potential.” 

That was a lie. There was no potential whatsoever.

She went red again, but this time Scorp didn’t have that fight or flight reaction that came with watching a member of the Weasley family getting so enraged their face boiled.

 _She’s blushing,_ he realized.

Cute.

“Anyway,” she recovered, standing up and grabbing her wand. “I’ll fix those charms, and you’ll never have to deal with my awful singing again. I promise.”

“Sounds good.” He stood up uncertainly, not wanting to leave just yet. He looked around: it was a nice apartment, cosy. Lots of plants.

“Anyway, I’ll better get to it, then. See you around, yeah?”

She walked him to the door and opened it for him.

“Yeah,” he said, and then stepped outside.

  
  


\--

**December 8th, 8:30 p.m.**

Nothing.

Not a sound.

Nada, nil, zero, zilch.

How could he concentrate on his books when there was this _deafening_ _silence_ surrounding him?

It was too much. Even the grumpiest of fellas had to admit, there was a limit.

And the limit, in this particular case, was missing the ridiculously loud music that made it impossible to hear his own thoughts, just because he felt sort of… lonely without it?

Yikes.

“ _Feliz navidad_ ,” he pathetically sang to himself. Then chuckled, remembering how Al, years ago, while trying to describe a song that had been stuck in his head thanks to his cousin Rose went, ‘ _You know, the one that goes ‘the least knobby dot_ ’!’

Great, now he was nostalgic. And it was going to be at least another week till Al got home from Ireland. 

He could go out? Visit some of his mates, maybe even pop up at his parents’ place, his mother did say she missed him last time he saw her.

But he didn’t have the energy to actually _try_ to do things. He just wanted some _noise._

Honestly, this was his own damn fault. If he had listened to his mates, none of this would be happening. 

‘ _Buy a stereo, Scorp, it’ll be good for parties.’_ they’d said. 

_‘Mate, a bachelor pad isn’t a bachelor pad if you don’t have some sweet tunes to create a_ mood, _you know what I’m sayin’?’_ they’d said.

Thankfully Grandmother had no opinion on this particular matter, but still - the point still stood. Maybe if he had some good speakers he could play some music, and maybe he wouldn’t feel so incredibly lonely and miserable and… bored.

Maybe he could go check up on his upstairs neighbour? 

She _had_ said Al was supposed to help her after she moved. Maybe he could say Al had owled him? He could even go as far as telling her Al had owled him a while ago, and he just hadn’t seen the letter.

Yeah, that could work.

So he put down his book, grabbed his keys, and when he was almost out of the door he stopped.

_My coat. It’s fucking freezing out here._

Maybe he _should_ have a talk with the landlord. A Confundus charm wouldn’t hurt him, right?

KIDDING! Good Merlin. Live a little.

He climbed up the stairs, two at a time, rubbing his hands together to warm them, and then he was ready to knock on her door and lie to her face. Yes. Yes, he was.

There was no sound coming out of her apartment, but the door vibrated - the little number hanging by a nail on her door was swinging a little.

So the new charm was a success, then. Good. Good for her.

He knocked. And then knocked some more, banged, even.

One of her neighbours opened the door ever so slightly, trying to discreetly peek - trying being the keyword - and see what the ruckus was about. 

_‘There’s a deranged albino man banging on my neighbour’s door. Why? She seems so nice, even if a little unapproachable. Maybe it’s her crazy ex-boyfriend. Should I be concerned?’_

Or that’s what Scorp figured the neighbour was thinking. It’s not like he could go all legillimens on her arse, could he?

Maybe he could.

Again, he jested.

He was ready to cast a nonverbal Alohomora when the door finally opened and music filled his ears.

‘ _DANCIN’ AND PRANCIN’ IN JINGLE BELL SQUARE’_

“SCORPIUS,” Oh, the feeling of déjà vu. It felt like home. A loud, jolly home. “Mrs. Quinn, hi there, did you enjoy my cookies?”

The old lady that had previously been giving him the stink eye came out from behind her door, gave Rose a toothy grin and nodded.

 _Friendly hypothetical Muggles have_ nothing _on this girl._

She grabbed him by the sleeve of his coat and dragged him into her apartment, closing the door behind him. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me the charm didn’t work. Am I being too loud again? I swear you’d expect a twenty three-year old witch would be able to cast a simple charm and _please_ don’t tell me you heard me vocalizing? I found some tutorials online - that’s a Muggle thing, by the way, really cool, I could show you, you can learn anything and everything - and I’ve been practising, but I think I’m getting worse if that’s even possible? Would you like some tea?”

Morgana, did the woman ever _breathe?_ He just nodded as he sat on her cosy couch and listened, or tried to, while the music was still banging in his ears. 

Happy to have some noise filling his senses once again. Or fine, maybe it wasn’t just the music.

_‘GIDDY-UP, JINGLE HORSE, PICK UP YOUR FEET’_

“This is crazy weird, I was actually planning on paying you a little visit,” she yelled over the music. “I actually baked! Yes! Homemade Christmas cookies, with Grandma Weasley’s recipe! No more store-bought crap in this house ever again, this I solemnly swear. I was gonna go drop a baggie for you, but this works even better! Whew, aren’t you hot here with your coat on? Take it off, you’re staying a while, right?”

“If you’ll have me?” 

Now that she mentioned it, he _was_ hot. A little flushed even. He took off his coat and folded it, not sure what to do with it next.

“Gimme that, I’ll hang it.” 

Not only was Rose Weasley able to survive without breathing for extended periods of time, but she was also a mind reader? _And_ a good baker? Interesting. “So, how come you’re here? I thought you hated all this noise,” she said, turning the volume down a little.

“To be honest, I didn’t want to intrude…?” 

He stuffed the last bite of cookie into his mouth and started to get up, ready to leave and go live in silent misery again...

(A little drama had never hurt anybody)

“What? No! Absolutely not,” she said quickly, holding out a hand to stop him. “Honestly I’m so glad you came, I love this flat but everyone lives sort of far from here and my friends don’t want to come because they can’t apparate and it gets lonely after a while, you know? There’s only so much you can do to distract yourself in your free time and --”

“Yeah, I know. I get lonely too.” He chuckled. “Actually, so lonely I started missing your awful noise sessions -- sorry, I misspoke, your _sing-along_ sessions.”

_‘WHAT A BRIGHT TIME, IT’S THE RIGHT TIME TO ROCK THE NIGHT AWAY’_

“Oh yeah?” She laughed, introducing a nearby pillow to his face, by force. “You talk like you’re such an experienced singer.”

“I actually am!”

“ _‘_ _Your high notes need a lot of practice but you have potential'_ _,”_ she mocked, pulling a face and doing a pretty good impression of his voice.

“Did you just quote me?” 

He was hugging the pillow now. They were acquaintances now. Nay, they were friends.

She laughed. “Come on, Angel of Music, sing for me.” 

Phantom Of The Opera? Really? Man, the girl had a lot to learn.

“THAT’S THE JINGLE BELL, THAT’S THE JINGLE BELL,” he sang along with her stereo, or screamed along, actually, as the song was on its last verses. “Come on you gotta sing too!”

_“THAT’S THE JINGLE BELL ROCK!”_

__________

Long after her carefully curated Christmas Playlist stopped blasting, somewhere between inhaling the second batch of ginger cookies and losing all dignity (and risking a Muggle illness, according to Rose) by licking the bowl, Scorpius sat up on the floor with a dazed look in his eyes and said, “Hey, Rose?”

_You’re cool._

_I’ll befriend all the Muggles in our building if it means I’ll get to hang out with you again._

“Yeah?”

_‘Coexistence is a myth’ be damned._

“Can you add ‘Grandmother Got Run Over By A Reindeer’ to your playlist?”

**Author's Note:**

> Whew.  
> Okay so.  
> This is the first fic I've published in A WHILE, and honestly, I'm not even that sure that the Glee fanfics I wrote when I was 13 should count, since minors shouldn't be legally held accountable for their actions and all that. So maybe I could say this is the first fic I've published ever??? Yeah, that sounds better.  
> ANYWAY.  
> I have no idea how to do this, I feel like I'm accepting an award?? so FIRST OF ALL, I wanna thank my friend tatapb, who not only beta'ed this and saved it from being a mess, but who also pushed me to actually write it. She's an inspiration and who I wanna be when I grow up. Also, she's a damn good writer. One of my favorites, no cap. I'm sure you've read her stuff, but if you haven't, go. Now. Please. You can finish this godawful End Note later, or never.  
> She's a great beta, btw, so like... literally every single mistake that you could have found in this thing is 100% on me. Just a disclaimer.  
> There really wasn't a second of all?? so go listen to Christmas Tree Farm by Taylor Swift, it's a bop and it's what I was listening to when I started writing this. I've been listening to it since June. Maybe April.  
> I guess comments and kudos and the likes would be very much appreciated??? so, please do. If you liked it. And if you didn't too, I guess. Burst my blissfully ignorant bubble.  
> If you're still reading... thank you so much!! For reading this fic and then bothering to read this mess of a Note, now please go get a life.  
> I JEST!!!!  
> Lots of socially distanced kisses and stockings full of presents to you all.  
> M.
> 
> PS!!! The title is a reference to It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas, by Michael Bubblé.


End file.
